It’s known as the parable of the prodigal son, but he’s really not the character who surprises us, nor is it the jealous self-righteous brother. Neither of the two brothers really surprise us. We all know people like the two sons: rebellious and unrighteous on one hand or cold, resentful, and self-righteous on the other. And if we’re honest, we’ve probably all acted in one of the two ways and a little bit of both. This parable is a mirror for seeing ourselves. But, that is not the surprising element of this parable.
What is striking and causes us maybe even to shed a tear of joy is the third and most important figure, the father. Jesus clearly meant this parable to show us not just who we are. Though that is surely the case. In addressing this parable to the scribes and pharisees, he’s certainly giving them an opportunity to recognize their own sinfulness—their own prodigality—how they’ve wandered from God.
What touches our hearts and surprises us is the father. Think of how he was treated. First, his son insults him by demanding his inheritance to finance his wasteful escapade into wickedness, effectively saying, “Father, I wish you were dead so I could have your money.” Any earthly parent’s heart would be broken by this. To hear from your progeny, I wish you were dead, I will now act as if you were dead.
His son’s coldness, no doubt broke his heart, but the Father was not completely shattered, rather, we find him scanning the horizon, hoping and waiting for his son to return. One could imagine this father lighting a lantern in the window of his house every single night. His prayers and tears likely never ceasing since his son left. The son left his father’s house but he could not leave his father’s heart, no matter how far away the son wandered. Even with a broken heart, he could not forget his son.
He glimpses his son and runs towards him. He can imagine the father’s heavy robes bouncing with his exuberant dash to embrace his lost boy.
That’s one detail that seems to be missing from Rembrandt's painting. Hopefully you’ve taken a moment to examine the painting in the parking lot entrance way: it’s Rembrandt's depiction of the Son’s return. This was one of Rembrandt's last paintings before his death, and he beautifully depicts the prodigal son, in clothes, tattered from his life of dissipation, his sandals deteriorated from his wayward path, kneeling penitentially at his father’s breast. His father calmly embraces his son, laying hands on his shoulders as if to absolve him of sin. The dark scene is illuminated by the father’s tenderness, a symbol of weary and sinful mankind taking refuge in the shelter of God's mercy.
But when I read St. Luke, I imagine the Father a little bit more disheveled and out of breath after having raced to wrap his arms around his son, kissing him with joyful tears in his eyes.
And when the son returned, the father doesn’t wait for him to throw himself on the ground groveling at his feet. The Father doesn’t punish his son with coldness, like many of us might do. The father doesn’t make conditions for forgiveness, first say your sorry, first pay back the inheritance you squandered. How could he really ever pay back the debt for wounding his Father anyway? Rather, he embraces, he forgives, no matter the debt.
What a powerful image of God’s love for each of us. No doubt, Jesus wanted to present this image to the Pharisees, who believe God to be distant from sinners, unwilling to embrace us because of our uncleanness. The Father wraps his arms around his son who had been among pigs and prostitutes. There was no one more unclean. And the Father races to embrace him, just as there is no sin so great for God to forgive, he rushes to lavish mercy the instant we turn back to Him. He does not hesitate.
This certainly helps us to understand the love which animated the Lord’s own way of the cross. He does not hesitate to go to the cross for us. He does not hesitate to forgive.
Now, the story of the prodigal son could have ended differently. It could have ended with the son dying alone without knowing reconciliation. He could have been trampled by pigs. Diseased by prostitutes. He could have drunk himself to death without remorse and without the Father’s mercy.
The moral of the story: Don’t let your story end that way. It would be the greatest of tragedies.
We do not know the day nor the hour when we will reach the end of our earthly life and appear before the judgment seat of God. You do not want to come to the end of your life with an unrepented heart and unconfessed mortal sins. You don’t want to face God as your judge and have him say, you didn’t take me up on my invitation to forgive you. All you need to do is admit, confess.
4 weeks into Lent, I’ve made the invitation to you all several times to go to confession, and many have gone. I was so delighted that Evening of Confession a week and a half ago. I heard about 30 confessions for almost 3 and a half hours, and I would have heard them for three and a half more if I needed to.
But, I can do math. And, there are still many souls in this parish, who haven’t been to confession in a while, too long. God is waiting to race toward you with His embrace of mercy. Make the Father weep for joy. Go to confession.
On this Laetare Sunday, the Sunday of Joy, let us think of the joy we experience when we are forgiven by God, the joy of being embraced by his mercy, the joy we bring to others when we do the same. At Holy Mass, we express and pour out our gratitude for the mercy available to us through Christ. May we have the courage and fortitude to turn away from any sin or wickedness unfitting of our Father’s house, for turning away from sin, we turn towards God’s merciful embrace, for the glory of God and salvation of souls.
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